


in the end (when it all comes down to dust)

by Carmarthen



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Aliens, Character Death, Dark, F/M, Gen, Original Character Death(s), no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hraala could not remember a time before the Naked Ones came.  Not even the eldest of the tribe could, but that time was the subject of most of the stories. It was a good time: not easy, but easier, when there was grazing for the banthas and the People could hunt in the canyons undisturbed, before the Naked Ones came with their fire weapons and their machines and took the canyons for their own, and the scarce fertile land and fresh water.  When the People brought their banthas to the old grazing grounds, the Naked Ones killed the People with their fire weapons and put their heads on stakes.  It was an abomination to die like that." This is a story about the Tuskens as they might see themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the end (when it all comes down to dust)

**Author's Note:**

> I have some issues with how the Tusken Raiders are treated in the movies--the native inhabitants of Tatooine, facing the increasing encroachment on their land and scarce resources by invaders from space, treated like vicious animals...well, no wonder they're pissed. As usual, compliant with movie canon only.
> 
> Daek is the Tusken who takes a pot-shot at the pod-racers in Episode I, and Hraala is one of the women Anakin kills in Episode II; you might recognize some others, though.
> 
> I had this story beta'd five years ago, and don't know why I didn't post it. Many thanks to Epigone for the very helpful beta, although I ended up not taking her biggest suggestion (apparently it took me five years to decide that). I hope I made the right decision. Thanks are also due to scalesandfins for a great deal of discussion that both inspired this story and helped me work out the details of it.

  
_"Those Tuskens walk like men, but they're vicious, mindless monsters."  
-Cliegg Lars, _ Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones

Hraala could not remember a time before the Naked Ones came. Not even the eldest of the tribe could, but that time was the subject of most of the stories.

It was a good time: not easy, but easier, when there was grazing for the banthas and the People could hunt in the canyons undisturbed, before the Naked Ones came with their fire weapons and their machines and took the canyons for their own, and the scarce fertile land and fresh water. When the People brought their banthas to the old grazing grounds, the Naked Ones killed the People with their fire weapons and put their heads on stakes. It was an abomination to die like that.

At first the Naked Ones had been friendly enough: they had traded food and bright beads and sometimes fire weapons to the People for jewels and rare herbs from the canyons, but soon it was not enough. The Naked Ones wanted everything, and they went into the canyons with their machines and tore at the rock, destroying the precious springs that the People had relied on for as long as living memory. With them came others, creatures of all shapes and sizes and colors, furred and feathered and scaled, but underneath they were all Naked Ones, and their greed knew no bounds.

And so the People retreated farther from the settlements, following the wild bantha herds. At night they sat around the fire and told stories of the good times before the Naked Ones came, but talk changed nothing. The Naked Ones moved farther and farther into the desert, and the young men of the tribe grew restless and angry.

Hraala looked up from the sandhopper carcass she was dressing as her brother Daek dropped into a crouch beside her. "Today," he said, pride evident in his voice, "I went to the place where the Naked Ones race their machines."

"Daek!" Hraala said, worried. Her brother was the most hotheaded of the young men. The Naked Ones had not come after the tribe in many months, and she feared Daek had stirred them up again.

"They were racing their machines," Daek said. "I shot one of them with my fire weapon and it hit the cliffs. Boom! Fire everywhere."

"Oh, Daek," she said. "They will be angry again."

"Let them be angry!" Daek said viciously. "We were here before them. They came and they took everything we had."

"I know," Hraala said, "but I fear--"

Daek caught her free hand in his. "You must stop being afraid, sister. If all of the tribes band together, surely we can drive them away."

Hraala shook her head. "There are too many of them, Daek."

* * *

Hraala stared into the waters of one of the hidden springs, brooding over Daek's words. She wished she could believe him, but her entire life had been starvation and desperation, by turns running from the Naked Ones and attacking them.

"Hraala?"

She turned, humming happily in her throat and wishing Taquur could see the happiness on her face under her head wrappings. She still dressed like the young men. When she took a mate, she would put on a woman's robes and veil and jeweled mask.

Taquur was courting her, and she thought she would choose him as her mate soon, even though he was older than her. He was kind to her, and he listened when she spoke--he was not like her younger suitors, who could talk of nothing but their foolish raids and their hatred for the Naked Ones.

Taquur sat down beside her on the soft, flower-starred moss by the spring. "I was going to tell you I caught a tirit today. It is roasting over the fire, if you are hungry."

Hraala loved tirit meat, but the thoughtful gesture didn't cheer her today. She reached over and squeezed Taquur's arm, but said nothing.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you ill?"

"No," she said. "Daek shot down one of the racing machines today. I am afraid they will come after us again."

Taquur rested a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly. "I do not think so," he said. "I have watched the races before. The racers try to kill each other all the time. Usually there are only a few left by the end."

"Oh," Hraala said, both comforted and disturbed. How barbaric the Naked Ones were!

"Come on," Taquur said, holding his hand out. "I'm hungry and I don't want the meat to burn."

"Thank you," she said, and took his hand. They walked back to camp together, where he politely cut off a piece of the meat for her. She thanked him as was proper and took it to the women's tent to eat.

Yes, she would definitely take Taquur as her mate.

* * *

The seasons cycled as they did in the desert, dry and wet, every dry season drier than the one before. Ten cycles of seasons, and Hraala's life with Taquur fell into a rhythm.

Hraala put Sira to bed, tucking the baby in warmly. Sira had been born small, and Hraala worried about her fiercely. She was their third living child and the only girl. Their eldest son was fostered to another tribe, as was the custom. She saw him twice a year, at the Gathering of the Tribes, and she missed him, but custom kept the bloodlines strong.

Their second child, Kuri, had died during the worst famine of Hraala's memory. Although she and Taquur had given Kuri most of their food ration, Kuri had taken ill with a fever. Hraala had been mad in her grief and denied Taquur her bed for months, fearing to get with child again.

The third baby, a boy, had been born dead. He never had a name.

Her Mikka was still with her, old enough now to chase sandhoppers with sticks. But it was Sira, tiny, fragile Sira who had been born early, so small Taquur could hold her against his chest with one hand, whom Hraala had nightmares about. She still woke several times a night to check that Sira was breathing.

* * *

"Did you hear?" one of the young men called in passing. "Your brother captured one of the Naked Ones!"

Hraala's hand went to her chest. She felt sick with a unnameable fear. "Suns!" she hissed, under her breath. "What have you done now, Daek?"

The Naked One looked weak and small, not menacing or evil at all. Hraala had never understood why they did not cover their heads from the fiery suns like the People did. It slumped against its bonds, nearly unconscious. Hraala reached out to touch the soft brown fur on its head, but its eyes rolled wildly and it jerked away. Hraala leapt back, startled by the sudden motion, and eyed the Naked One warily.

It looked back at her, its eyes shiny and white around the edges like a wounded animal.

Hraala pointed at her chest. "Hraala," she said. "I won't hurt you."

The Naked One stared at her, eyes still wide and uncomprehending. There was red sticky ooze on its cheek, which Hraala supposed must be its blood. She felt a strange pity for the creature.

Perhaps the shaman could heal it, she thought. No--her. The Naked One was a female, although she was not sure how she knew.

When she brought Maalik to see the creature and asked him, he shook his head. "I cannot heal it," he said. "I don't like seeing it suffer, but I don't have anything I can give it."

Hraala wanted to cry. It was horrible, what Daek and the others had done to the creature. "Her," she said. "It's a female."

"Is it?" Maalik sounded surprised. "How can you tell?"

"I just know," Hraala said. "How could Daek do this?" she burst out. "She isn't one of the ones who hunt us. You can see her back--someone hurt her, over and over. Now they will be angry and come after us with fire weapons and machines."

Maalik patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Daek worries me, too," he said. "I understand his anger, but actions like this are...unwise. Perhaps you should put the creature out of her agony."

Hraala shook her head. "I can't," she choked. "What if they came to rescue her?"

"Daek and the young ones would kill them," Maalik said.

"I know." Hraala reached out to stroke the fur on the woman's head. She was unconscious and did not pull away this time. "That is what I fear."

* * *

"You look worried," Taquur said quietly. Hraala had taken off her outer robes and veil, preparing for bed; Taquur only wore his trousers, and she could see his eyes bright and concerned in the lantern light.

"I have a bad feeling about the captive," she said. "I think they will come for her."

Taquur put his arms around her. "It's just one of _them,_ " he said. "We'll move camp tomorrow. The winds will cover our tracks."

"I don't know," Hraala said miserably as Taquur nuzzled his cheek against her. He was trying to be comforting, and Hraala appreciated the effort, but it wasn't working. "She doesn't seem evil. There are old scars on her back, lots of them."

"Do you feel _sorry_ for it?" Taquur asked, surprise clear in his voice.

"A little bit," Hraala said, then sighed, annoyed by his incomprehension. "Never mind. Let's go to sleep."

Taquur leaned over and nuzzled Sira's cheek. "Good night, Sira," he said quietly. Sira stirred a little, but did not wake.

"Good night, beloved," he said to Hraala as he pulled her close to him under the thin blanket.

Although she usually fell asleep quickly in Taquur's arms, Hraala lay awake that night. What if the nightmares returned?

* * *

"Let me hold her while you do that," Rika said, deftly taking Sira while Hraala struggled one-handed with the clasp of her jeweled mask.

Hraala finally untangled the clasp from her veil and looked around for Rika and Sira, who were now on the other side of the women's tent, Rika deep in conversation with Mala. Hraala smiled under her mask; Sira was happy enough with Rika, and poor Rika was barren. Holding Sira gave her some comfort, Hraala thought.

And then--there was a low humming and blue fire everywhere. Hraala, dazed by the sound and the sudden light, heard Rika scream, shrill and terrified. The other woman fell, and Hraala dove desperately for Sira, howling incoherently in her fear.

But she was falling too--had she tripped on her robe?--and there was the sickening charred smell of burning flesh all around, which she realized dimly was her own.

"Sira...." she gasped, reaching towards the still body of her daughter, lying in a dark pool of blood, just like her nightmares. Not Sira, her baby Sira like a moss flower--

  
_When it all comes down to dust_  
 _I will kill you if I must_  
 _I will help you if I can_  
-Leonard Cohen, "Story of Isaac"  



End file.
